


The Truth (Or Something Beautiful)

by gemjam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Best Friends, Biphobia, Coming Out, M/M, Secret Relationship, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 06:28:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16738834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: Nothing can come between best friends Stiles and Allison, except maybe Stiles' feelings for Allison's dad.





	The Truth (Or Something Beautiful)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the first two days of Stargent Appreciation Week - _relationship reveal_ and _human au_

They’re thrown together by fate, or a dodgy computer algorithm. Stiles steps into his assigned college dorm room on the first day of freshman year to find a brunette girl sitting on one of the beds looking very much at home. He stops in the open doorway, adjusting the bag on his shoulder as he stares at her.

“Are you waiting for your boyfriend?” he asks.

She looks up at him sharply. “I’m gay and capable of making my own decisions without male permission, thank you.”

“Great, good for you,” Stiles responds, unable to hide his bemusement. “I too am gay and capable of making my own decisions. I was just wondering what you were doing in my room?”

She stills, her indignation turning to confusion. “This is my room.”

Stiles sags, nearly letting all his bags slip to the floor as the pieces start to fall into place. “A. Argent?”

She frowns, her nose crinkling. “M. Stilinski?”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs. “And I’m guessing my Polish name got misfiled somewhere along the way.” He looks out into the hallway. “I guess I need to go report this to somebody. Bureaucracy was not how I wanted to spend my first day here.”

“All the rooms have been assigned, if you report it now you’re just going to end up homeless,” she says. Stiles looks at her, pulling her sleeves down over her hands and stretching her arms out in front of her while she seems to weigh something up in her mind. “Are you really gay?”

“No, I just love being victimised,” Stiles says dryly.

She tilts her head, giving him a scathing look. “So you have no interest in seeing me naked, right?”

Stiles pulls a face despite himself. “No offence, but absolutely not.”

“Right,” she agrees. “And I have no interest in seeing you naked. At all. So it’s not really a conflict of interests. We could probably make this work. You should stay. For now.”

“You’d be okay with that?” he asks sceptically, even as he steps back into the room.

She shrugs, arching an arm out in greeting. “Sure. Maybe it’s a queer housing program.”

Stiles smiles at her, coming into the room and finally throwing all his bags down on the bed. “Thanks.”

“So what’s your Polish name?” she asks, pulling her legs up onto her bed to cross in front of her.

He shakes his head. “Just call me Stiles.”

“I’m Allison.”

When they’re going to their first party together a couple of days later, Allison picks up one of Stiles’ shirts from the back of a chair. “Do you mind if I borrow this? Plaid is so lesbian.”

“Go ahead,” Stiles responds with a smile.

He watches her put it on with her skin-tight jeans and tank top, rolling up the sleeves and tying it up around her waist, and he can tell they’re going to be best friends. He’s also pretty sure he’s never getting that shirt back.

They become a two-person pride parade on campus. They hang a rainbow flag in their window and their wardrobes become increasingly filled with clothing stating their orientations, most of them made from plain tees and sharpies. They constantly try to find boys and girls for each other.

They share coming out stories late at night, snuggled up in their shared dorm room that has acquired a lot of ambient lighting. Allison came out when she was fifteen and her mother, mostly absent since the divorce anyway, quietly excused herself from Allison’s life. According to Allison, it was no big loss. Her dad, on the other hand, came out right back to her. He told her he wasn’t sure if he was ever going to tell her he was bi, it had never received a good reception, but she’d inspired him to share his truth. She’d always been the trailblazer in the family and his undeniable inspiration.

Stiles came out when he was twelve, on his mother’s deathbed. He’d been born and raised on a US military base in Germany, though he could barely speak conversational German. Military brats rarely left the base. When his mom got sick, they moved back to America where she lived out her final year. He still wasn’t totally sure about his sexuality, he didn’t really understand it himself yet, but he couldn’t bear the thought of his mother not knowing this about him. By the time he said the words though, she was beyond understanding them. His dad, on the other side of the bed, reached across to take his hand, letting him know it was okay, even though nothing was, not for a long time.

They stayed in the US after his mom died. He guessed his dad wanted him to have a sense of normalcy. As much as he enjoyed being in a real American school, he could always tell that civilian life never sat right with his dad. That military family wasn’t something you could find in a regular neighbourhood.

The plan became to go back once Stiles was done with high school, but halfway through his senior year, a job offer came in. Stiles encouraged him to take it. He could look after himself for a few months. He’d have to get used to it soon anyway. The first time his dad skyped him from Germany, he instantly looked more settled than he had in years.

When Thanksgiving rolls around, he misses his dad for the first time since his high school graduation. They’re both independent but there are times when it hits. Allison refuses to let him go home to an empty house and insists that he join her and her dad. Allison already feels like family so he doesn’t turn the offer down. They’ve only known each other a few months and he’s already closer to her than he has been to anyone for a long time.

They load up the car with all the dirty laundry they’ve amassed and Allison drives them home. It’s a nice house in a nice neighbourhood. Stiles can imagine Allison raising hell against its conformity. She’s meek on the surface but she takes no shit.

The door opens as they pull into the driveway and Stiles is not prepared for the man he sees stood there.

“Daddy!” Allison squeals as she leaps out of the car, tackling him in a hug.

Stiles has seen photos of Allison’s dad in their dorm room, but in none of them did he have this impressive beard or the unkempt hair. He’s wearing tight jeans and a slouchy T-shirt, and fuck, he has a goddamn tattoo on his perfect bicep. Stiles wants to call him Daddy too.

He climbs out of the car, busying himself with their copious amounts of baggage for the long weekend. None of it’s for wearing, they just don’t want to deal with the college laundry and Allison insisted her dad loves folding things straight out of the dryer.

“It’ll be one of his things to be thankful for,” she’d told him.

Her dad walks down the driveway, opening the back door and leaning in across from Stiles. “You must be the man whose name can bring down college databases,” he says. “That’s a powerful ability.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, swallowing uncomfortably. He wants to climb this man like a tree. This is so inappropriate. “I’d tell you what it is but if I say it out loud it could destroy us all.”

He laughs, grinning wide. “I like you.”

Stiles doesn’t blush. He absolutely refuses to acknowledge the heat in his cheeks. “Thanks, Mr. Argent.”

“You can call me Chris,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We’re all adults here.”

“Right,” Stiles agrees. Still inappropriate.

Chris looks down at the bags between them. “Are you two moving in?”

“It’s mostly laundry,” Stiles admits.

Chris snorts a laugh. “Did she tell you I like to fold?”

“She might have mentioned it,” Stiles says.

“She’s not wrong,” Chris says good naturedly. “Come on, let’s get this stuff inside.”

They grab the bags between them, heading inside to where Allison is leaning against the kitchen counter, playing on her phone.

“I would have thought you were above gender stereotypes like letting the men carry the bags, Allison Marie Argent,” Chris says, putting them down with pointed effort.

“I am,” Allison agrees. “I also believe that you should define your own roles in life and I choose a role where my dad and best friend carry my bags for me.”

Chris shakes his head, walking over to a drawer and pulling it open. “Well, if I have to cook tomorrow, I am not cooking tonight,” he says, placing an array of takeout menus on the counter in front of Allison. “You guys choose. I’m putting some laundry on.”

Stiles goes over to stand beside her as he watches Chris leave the room. He leans in close, whispering harshly. “He doesn’t look like your dad.”

She recoils, surprised by his proximity when she looks up from the menus. “Excuse me?”

“That’s not what he looks like in the photos,” Stiles says.

“Oh,” she responds. “Yeah, I guess I don’t really have any photos of him since he entered his bisexual biker phase.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles groans.

Allison gives a little laugh. “What?”

“He is hot as sin,” Stiles says with clear exasperation.

Allison crinkles her nose. “That’s gross.”

“Yeah, that’s gross,” Stiles agrees, sagging against the counter.

“You guys decided?” Chris asks, coming back into the room.

“I want Chinese,” Allison says. “Stiles agrees.”

“Always,” Stiles says.

“Smart man,” Chris says, taking out his wallet and tossing it to Allison. “Order whatever you want.”

They watch a movie while they eat, one that Allison approves with a quick internet search to check if the gay dies. Stiles loves her more than he can express. It’s funny how he already can’t imagine his life without her. When they go upstairs to separate bedrooms, it feels strange to be alone. He lies in the guest bed, tired but restless. He tries for an hour to go to sleep but in the end he climbs out of bed, heading downstairs.

He goes through to the kitchen, opening cupboards and looking for a snack when he finds something better. He grabs the bottle of whiskey, taking out a tumbler and pouring himself a measure.

“Are you stealing my Scotch?”

Stiles jumps nearly dropping the bottle. “Oh my god,” he says, putting it down. “I thought you were in bed.”

“I was folding laundry,” Chris says gesturing over his shoulder. “Nice pyjamas,” he adds, eyes scanning over him.

Stiles looks down at his Batman pyjamas and feels like an idiot. “Thanks.” He looks at Chris’ outfit, the same slouchy shirt as before but now he’s barefoot with a pair of shorts. And there’s another tattoo on his thigh, lines of small writing. It makes Stiles weak and it’s so embarrassing. He just wants to go over there and read it. Maybe touch it. “Cool tats,” he says instead.

“Thanks,” Chris responds, moving closer. “Now back to the matter at hand. Are you stealing my Scotch?”

“Not stealing,” Stiles dismisses. “Maybe just skimming a little off the top.”

“Uh-huh,” Chris says, reaching past him to take out another tumbler, pouring himself a drink. “You’re eighteen?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, watching as Chris puts the bottle away. He’s not taking Stiles’ drink away from him though.

“And you’re going straight for the hard stuff?” Chris asks.

Stiles shrugs. “When my dad moved back to Germany when I was in my senior year, he didn’t clear out the liquor cabinet. I thought I’d like schnapps but it turns out I like whiskey.”

“It’s Scotch,” Chris says, crossing the kitchen and sitting down at the table.

“Okay,” Stiles says. He picks up the glass, turning it around in his hands.

“It must have been tough, being on your own,” Chris says.

“I really didn’t mind,” Stiles says. “It’s not some tragic story. I wasn’t abandoned, we made a choice. And maybe there’s a couple of times that I wished he was there. Like my first day at college. But he never would have let me room with Allison, he would have gone straight to accommodation to sort it out, and probably mention that he’s in the military because he can never help himself. Then I wouldn’t have my best friend and I wouldn’t be here right now.” He looks at Chris across the room. He likes being here very much.

Chris nods, taking a sip of his drink. “Things have a way of working themselves out. I feel like we end up where we’re supposed to be. Eventually.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Stiles says, going over to join Chris and clinking their glasses together. He sits down opposite Chris, taking a sip.

“I’m assuming Allison told you my story like she told me yours,” Chris says.

“I guess,” Stiles says.

Chris nods. “My wife called it a midlife crisis. I called it becoming who I really was.” He smiles, taking another sip of his drink. “I’m jealous of you kids. You have it all worked out so early. Bisexual wasn’t really a thing when I was your age. Certainly not in my household anyway.”

“I have nothing worked out,” Stiles dismisses. “Well, except that I like cock.”

“Cock’s pretty great,” Chris agrees.

Stiles laughs, their eyes meeting, Chris’ shining with amusement. They’re a beautiful shade of blue and they’re looking at him so invitingly. Allison’s voice echoes in his head. _That’s gross._ He looks away, taking a long swallow of his drink, letting it burn.

“I’m really glad that Allison has you,” Chris says. “She’s only an hour away and she told me she’d be home all the time but this is the first time I’ve seen her. Which is good, I’m glad, she’s settled in really well. She was worried because she didn’t have a lot of friends in high school. I’m sure she’ll appreciate me telling you that.”

Stiles waves him off. “We tell each other everything. And she’s doing great. We joined all of the queer representation clubs and we made a bunch of friends. But our dorm’s our sanctuary. We don’t let people in there often. It’s kind of weird having a wall between us.”

“At least you don’t have to put up with her snoring,” Chris says.

“She assures me she doesn’t snore,” Stiles says with mock indignation.

“But she does,” Chris says.

“Oh hell yes she does,” Stiles agrees with a grin. “It’s soft though, I don’t mind it. Like a white noise machine.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Hey, maybe that’s why I can’t sleep.”

Chris laughs, draining the rest of his glass. “Well, I’ve gotten my laundry fix and I’ve had a nightcap, I think I’m going to turn in.” He gets to his feet, reaching out and squeezing Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles tries not to tense and tries even harder not to lean into the warmth. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Stiles,” Chris says.

“Night,” Stiles agrees.

He finishes his drink, waiting a while for the house to settle around him, and then he climbs the stairs in the dark, slipping back into his bed. He plays on his phone until he manages to fall asleep, trying very hard not to let his thoughts linger on Chris, or his tattoos, or his kindness. _That’s gross._ Worse than pining over straight boys.

He skypes with his dad the next morning, chatting about the holiday and assuring his dad’s guilty conscience that he’s fine. He is. It’s the first time they’ve been apart for it though and he can’t help getting a little teary when they hang up. He’s probably just tired.

Allison gives him a hug when she sees him because she can _tell._ They have a chilled out morning and then the three of them work together to make Thanksgiving dinner. It’s nothing grand, but Stiles hasn’t had grand since they left the military base. He likes it though, it feels safe and intimate.

They wile away the rest of the long weekend; college work and long walks down trails that Allison seems to know well and marathons of terrible TV shows. It’s a good time and Stiles manages not to be alone with Chris again, which helps put things in perspective. He’s Allison’s dad. He also ticks every one of Stiles’ boxes. He is a terrible person.

When they get back to college, Allison meets Lydia Martin and Stiles can feel the seismic change in their lives.

“She’s a redheaded siren who’s going to steal my soul,” Allison whines, pacing around their dorm room. “She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life. And she’s so smart and fierce and she has this energy that makes me want to join whatever cult she feels like running. I want to worship her body, Stiles. I want to build a shrine to her.”

“The important thing is that you’re not overreacting,” Stiles says dryly.

Allison slumps down dramatically onto her bed. “She’s so straight,” she says. “And we don’t chase straight people.”

“We don’t,” Stiles agrees. We also don’t date parents, no matter how queer they might be. He feels Allison on such a deep spiritual level right now. He wishes he could explain that fact to her. “Do you want to go get some ice cream?” he asks instead.

Allison smiles at him. “I love you, Stiles Stilinski.”

Thursday night is gay night at the Student Union and Stiles and Allison drown their respective sorrows by hooking up with out and proud members of the community who might not be their soulmates, but who needs a soulmate at eighteen?

Allison talks about Lydia is spurts when her admiration and frustration boil over, but mostly she becomes her friend. They study together and get coffee together and Stiles thinks it’s nice that Allison is branching out from their safe little LGBTQ corner. It’s good to see her build a solid friendship that’s not based on her sexuality. She doesn’t talk about it, but he knows it’s important to her that she prove to herself that she can. She’s not the outsider anymore, and she’s valid for more than her sexuality.

Stiles tries to follow her lead and be an upstanding person, but Allison took a selfie with her dad that now hangs on their shared noticeboard, one of him firmly in his bisexual biker phase, and Stiles spends a lot of time staring at it and losing any perspective he’s built up. He has it bad. He wishes he had somebody to be self-deprecating about it to, it might take the sting off, but instead he just has this yearning that feels so fucking romance novel. Chris is such a nice, genuine guy though. He has a warmth that Stiles feels drawn to above the unrelenting hotness of his aesthetic.

Stiles remembers that conversation they had the first night about being who you are. He relates to that on such a deep level and he does feel lucky that he got it out there so early, before it had time to fester into self-doubt and, ultimately, shame. He doesn’t know what that must be like to carry around for most of your life. When Allison invites, or rather insists on, Stiles joining them for Christmas, he knows that he wants to welcome Chris to the club. It’s not always easy to join.

They open presents early on Christmas morning because apparently Allison is a huge kid about it. Stiles isn’t complaining. His dad sent him a huge care package in the middle of December to make sure it got to him on time and Allison wouldn’t let him touch it until Christmas Day so he is more than ready to finally find out what’s inside. It makes him feel a little homesick, seeing all these things his dad has picked out for him. He’d offered to fly Stiles out to Germany for the Christmas break but, as much as Stiles would have loved to see him, he didn’t want to deal with the jetlag and he knew his dad wouldn’t get time off work so he’d spend most of the day alone, no friends. He’d rather be with Allison. He still felt guilty about that fact.

His heart pounds as he hands Chris his present, not quite able to look him in the eye. Chris just holds it for a moment.

“You bought me something?” he asks, sounding curious and a little confused.

“Strictly speaking, no,” Stiles dismisses. “I made it. I couldn’t turn up for Christmas without gifts.”

“You could,” Chris tells him, turning it over to get to the tape. “But thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Stiles watches Chris’ hands as he tears into the paper and then pulls out the shirt, holding it up. It’s dip dyed, pink at the top, purple in the middle and blue at the bottom. The bisexual flag. Chris looks over at him, his eyes lighting up as a grin comes over his face.

“I love it,” he enthuses.

“I mean, you don’t have to actually wear it,” Stiles says. “Maybe you can sleep in it or something. I just thought, seeing as you were embracing your identity. I don’t know. We make shirts. It’s fun to own it.”

“Ours are usually done with sharpie though,” Allison says, getting up to take a closer look. “This is so cool.”

“It’s amazing,” Chris says. “And I’m definitely wearing it.” He drops it into his lap to pull his sleep shirt over his head.

“Oh, okay,” Stiles says, averting his eyes, but he has no self-control so he immediately looks back. The guy is solid. Stiles is fucked.

Chris pulls on the new shirt, standing up and adjusting it as he looks down at himself. “This is…” He looks over at Stiles. “Thank you. Truly. It’s perfect.”

Stiles nods, shying away from the emotion in Chris’ eyes. “You’re welcome.”

“There’s one left,” Allison says excitedly, diving for the tree and pulling around a box that was at the back.

“That’s for both of you,” Chris says, sitting back down on the couch.

Stiles looks at him. “You don’t have to pretend you bought me a gift just because I got you one.”

Chris gives him a look. “Allison, read the tag, please.”

“To Allison and Stiles,” she says, holding it out to Stiles as proof.

“Okay,” Stiles says, moving closer, intrigued.

Allison rips into it, pulling open the plain cardboard box beneath the Christmas paper to find a stack of video games.

“Allison said that you two like to play in your dorm room,” Chris says. “I thought you might appreciate a bit of variety. Did I get the right ones for your… machine?”

Stiles smirks at him. “Console,” he says. “Yeah, you got the right ones, old man.”

“I can take your name off that tag,” Chris says coolly.

Stiles blushes, looking down at the games. That was not flirting. It was not cute. He is such a mess. “Thank you,” he says.

“Yeah, thanks, daddy,” Allison says, bounding over to give him a hug.

Christmas dinner is still casual but it’s bigger than Thanksgiving. Allison has a lot of opinions about side dishes. Stiles doesn’t want to move for a week after eating every single one of them, but Allison insists the three of them go for a walk. Apparently, it’s tradition.

“I’m not an Argent,” he points out.

“You’re family, whether you like it or not,” Allison says. “Get up. I will use force if necessary.”

Stiles is not a brave enough man to call her bluff. So they walk, sluggish and bundled up against the cold, and maybe it is nice to be walking out here in nature. They live in such a nice location, their neighbourhood backing onto a nature preserve that’s so quiet and still.

“Oh my god,” Allison says, rushing ahead and then suddenly attempting to climb a tree.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks.

“Please be careful,” Chris says, going over to join her. He crouches down, making a step for her to stand on with his joined hands and then hoisting her up. “I do not need another Christmas in the emergency room waiting for x-rays.”

“You fall out of a tree one time and no one ever lets you forget it,” Allison says dramatically.

“What is she doing?” Stiles asks, stepping up beside Chris.

“Mistletoe,” Chris says. “It’s parasitic, did you know that? It latches onto other trees and uses them as hosts. So romantic.”

“It sounds like there should be an ex-wife joke in there,” Stiles says.

Chris snorts a laugh. “She had to pay child support and we got to keep the house so the joke’s on her.”

Allison starts to climb back down, a sprig of mistletoe clutched in her hand. She holds it up proudly once she’s safely on the ground. When they get back to the house, she grabs one of the kitchen chairs and climbs on it to reach the doorway where there’s already a nail protruding out of the frame. She hangs the mistletoe on it proudly and steps down, tugging Chris towards her and placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Chris responds fondly, pulling her into a hug that looks so safe and secure.

When they pull apart, Allison gestures to Stiles. “You’re family too. Traditions are traditions.”

For an awful moment, Stiles thinks she’s going to make him kiss her dad, but Chris steps away as Stiles joins Allison in the doorway, the two of them kissing each other on the cheek. They grin at each other, like they do so many times, partners in crime. He really does feel like he’s home.

Later that night, after a few drinks and a game of poker in which no one could keep a straight face, Allison calls it a night. Stiles is going to join her but Chris offers him another glass of wine, and really, they may as well finish the bottle off now. He’s not that sleepy and he likes Chris’ company.

“You didn’t want to go spend the holidays with your dad?” Chris asks as they settle into their seats.

“I miss him,” Stiles says. “But being on that military base and having to worry about how I’m presenting myself all the time sounds exhausting.”

“They’re strict?” Chris asks.

“More that my queerness might not be appreciated,” Stiles admits. “I’ve never been out there. If we’d stayed, if my mom hadn’t gotten sick, I don’t know if I would have dared to embrace my sexuality like I did over here. It wasn’t like it was a hotbed of homophobia or anything like that. That place just had a certain… feeling. And I didn’t hate it while I was there, but I don’t want to go back there. And I don’t want to make things difficult for my dad.”

Chris nods, looking down at his shirt. “Well, being yourself is encouraged here.”

Stiles smiles at him. “I know,” he says. “Thanks.”

They nurse their drinks whilst playing rummy, neither of them really invested in the game. It’s something to do, the silence that falls over them comfortable. Stiles feels warm and cosy inside his alcohol blanket, but not drunk. If he was drunk, he’d do something stupid sat across from a gorgeous man like this.

With their wine glasses empty and the cards messy between them, Chris yawns, stretching his arms above his head. There’s a little strip of stomach exposed as he leans back from the table. Stiles congratulates himself on picking an excellently sized shirt.

“Well,” Chris says. “I’m going to bed.”

“Me too,” Stiles agrees, getting to his feet.

Chris nods, gathering their wine glasses and taking them over to the sink. Stiles goes to leave the room when Chris stops him with a hand on his arm. Stiles looks down at it, stares actually. Chris’ hand. On his arm. A firm grip that’s not tight or challenging. It’s confident.

“I wanted to thank you for this T-shirt,” Chris says.

Stiles blinks up at him. “You did.”

“I just want you to understand how much it means to me,” Chris says. “To be able to wear my identity. To have someone give that to me.”

Stiles shrugs. “You gave that to yourself. You came out.”

“Only because of Allison’s bravery,” Chris says. “And I don’t shy away from it like I used to. I have friends that know. I’ve explored it. I’ve been to the clubs and I’ve had the hook-ups. But I’ve never worn it. I’ve never owned it. And now I can. So thank you for understanding that I needed that. For hearing what I was saying.”

“Maybe a subtle pin would be a better look,” Stiles says, eyes falling down to the admittedly garish shirt.

“Shut up,” Chris tells him, pulling him into a big, strong hug. Stiles goes with it, leaning into him. It feels so good. “Thank you for seeing me,” Chris says.

“Who you are is important,” Stiles says.

“It is,” Chris agrees, pulling back.

Stiles smiles at him. And then he realises where they’re stood. He looks up, spying the mistletoe on its hook. He gives a little laugh. They’re still lightly holding one another.

“You know, Allison would go crazy if she knew we were disrespecting the mistletoe,” Chris says, following his gaze.

“It is a tradition,” Stiles says. His heart is beating so fast in his chest. He wonders if Chris can hear it. They’re so close together. This is a very bad idea. Very bad.

Chris shifts his head, leaning in a placing a kiss on Stiles’ cheek, but then he lingers there, the proximity loaded, and as Stiles turns his face to look at him, their eyes meet and it’s suddenly inevitable. It’s out of their hands. That’s what he tells himself.

Their lips meet, brushing together, and it’s almost chaste, but then their mouths are parting and their tongues are running over one another and Stiles feels light-headed in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol. He clings to Chris, his fingers clutching the shirt that seems to celebrate what they’re doing, Chris’ arms cradling him close as they kiss, breathless and desperate. It feels incredible. Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever kissed anyone like this, so drenched in intimacy. Allison’s voice echoes in his head. _That’s gross._ He cringes, pulling back, his eyes cast down as he steps out of Chris’ grasp.

“Shit,” he says, staring at the floor.

“Yeah,” Chris agrees. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Stiles says, looking up at him. His eyes are hazy. Stiles did that. He looks away again. “That was mutual,” he says. “It was a terrible, very bad thing, but it was mutual.”

“Stiles, I am so sorry,” Chris says, running a hand through his hair as he walks further into the kitchen.

“Still mutual,” Stiles says.

The sound of water running upstairs makes them both freeze, looking up. The mistletoe is still above Stiles’ head. He steps to the side, out of the kitchen. They’re so close to being caught in the act. His stomach twists.

“Maybe we should talk about this in the morning,” he says.

“Yeah,” Chris agrees.

Stiles hesitates for half a second and then leaves, the feeling of shame following him all the way to bed.

They don’t talk the next morning. Stiles watches cartoons with Allison instead and Chris is busy in the garage most of the day tinkering with his bike. Stiles tries very hard not to imagine it. Allison doesn’t seem to notice anything’s amiss in the following days and it’s not as uncomfortable as it undoubtedly should be. He can’t hold eye contact with Chris for longer than two seconds at a time, but the three of them somehow still manage to get through a game of Monopoly together which Allison wins because she is shrewd and unforgiving. Stiles likes it here and somehow it doesn’t feel like he’s fucked it up as much as he could have done. He’s not sure what to think about that.

For New Year’s, Allison manages to get them invited to a house party held by someone she was _almost_ friends with at high school. Her words.

“We were lab partners in senior year,” Allison explains. “She invited me bowling one time but I was bad at it and she didn’t invite me again.”

“You are really bad at bowling,” Stiles agrees.

“Shut up,” she says, giving him a shove, but Stiles can see the grin she’s trying to hold back. “Anyway, we are dressing fancy and queer tonight. I am not the boring girl they knew in high school.”

“We’re making shirts?” Stiles guesses.

“We’re going thrift store shopping,” Allison says, a glint in her eye.

Allison finds a plaid mini-dress and a sequin jacket and Stiles has to admit that she looks particularly fierce. She pairs it with over the knee socks, chunky boots and big hair. Stiles finds some rainbow suspenders which might be his new favourite thing in the world, pairing them with red pants and a plain white tee. He’s probably going to attack it with a sharpie at a later date.

Allison keeps hold of Stiles’ hand as they walk through the house and he can tell how nervous she is to be here. They grab a bottle of vodka from the kitchen and find the quietest corner they can to do shots. Stiles stops drinking as soon as things begin to get fuzzy, watching Allison’s cheeks start to glow and her confidence returning.

“I wasn’t bullied at school,” she says. “Part of me wishes I was because it would give me something to fight against. I wasn’t out and proud like I am now, but I was never really in the closet either. That wasn’t why nobody liked me though. I don’t think they even noticed I was there. I was just boring.”

“You’re not boring now,” Stiles says. “You’re passionate and bright and you’re literally sparkling.”

“I am,” Allison agrees, shimmying her jacket to make it catch the light. “They should know that about me. Let’s dance.”

She drags him into the heart of the party and Stiles twirls her like a glitterball. He loves dancing with Allison. He never feels like the flailing idiot that he is. Everything’s just fun and easy with her. They dance until they’re sweaty and breathless and then Allison wants to do more shots. Stiles grabs himself a soda and follows her, watching her move with confidence. He knows that she doesn’t care if they’re looking at her now, but they all are. She’s like a shining star, the literal light of his life. He is not going to fuck this up.

He has to practically carry Allison out of the taxi at the end of the night. It’s the early hours of the morning but Chris is still awake, coming out of the kitchen as Stiles dumps Allison onto the couch.

“Looks like you two had a good night,” he comments.

“Oh, hey,” Stiles says. “Yeah. We had fun.”

He kneels on the floor in front of Allison, unlacing her boots and pulling them off. When he looks up at Chris, he sees him watching them fondly.

“You weren’t drinking?” Chris asks.

“We have a system,” Stiles says, tugging off Allison’s other boot. “We only both get drunk if we’re in a safe space. It was my turn to be designated sober friend tonight.”

“I’m glad you look after each other,” Chris says.

“Always,” Stiles agrees. “And now,” he says, standing up. “I get the joy of putting her to bed and making sure she has something to throw up into.”

“The wastebasket in her room has a liner in it,” Chris says.

“I took note of that earlier,” Stiles responds, hefting Allison up. “I’m not an amateur.”

No matter how wasted she is, Stiles is forever grateful that she somehow manages to sleepwalk along with him. He does not have the muscles for hero carrying. He has no idea how she manages him when he’s in this state. Probably pure will power.

He takes off her jacket and belt and lays her on the bed on her side, pulling a blanket up over her. He moves the wastebasket to the side of the bed and leaves the door ajar so the light from the landing can filter through, so much affection in his heart.

He goes through to his own room, changing into his pyjamas and then heading back downstairs. When he gets to the kitchen, Chris is sat at the table with a cup of coffee. Stiles pauses. It’s the first time they’ve been alone since… Christmas night. But that doesn’t mean anything. That doesn’t have to mean anything.

“You’re drinking coffee at 3am?” Stiles asks, going over to get two glasses from the cupboard, one for him and one for Allison.

“It’s decaf,” Chris responds.

“Then what’s the point?” Stiles asks.

Chris makes a small sound of amusement. “I like the taste.”

“Did you have a good night?” Stiles asks, filling up the glasses with water.

“It was quiet, just a few friends,” Chris says, getting to his feet. “I was in charge of fireworks so I was designated sober friend too. Explosives and alcohol don’t mix.”

“Smart,” Stiles says, stepping away from the counter as he takes a sip of his water. “So we’re both sober?”

“I guess so,” Chris says.

He leans past Stiles to place his coffee cup in the sink and then stays there, a little too close. Stiles puts his own glass down, edging a little closer. No mistletoe. No alcohol. So it’s just them. His eyes fall down to Chris’ lips, watching his tongue dart out over them. He wants to whine from the want crawling under his skin but then Chris closes the gap between them, wrapping him up in his arms and kissing him. So maybe this isn’t just a schoolboy crush. He parts his lips with a groan, licking into Chris’ mouth, tasting the coffee. It does taste good. He hooks his arms around Chris’ neck, pulling himself closer. This is definitely mutual. Chris’ hand slides down to cup his ass. He wants him. That is the only thought Stiles is going to allow into his head right now.

When they come up for air, panting and breathless, Chris tilts his head back to look at him. “Is this okay?”

“God yes,” Stiles says, shoving him back against the counter and grinding against him as he dives back in for another kiss.

Everything feels so instinctive, the way their bodies move together, the way their tongues catch and their hands grab. Distantly, Stiles is aware that it’s completely lacking in finesse and decorum, but they’re so perfectly on the same page with it that he doesn’t care. Chris is clearly just as into this as he is. It might be desperate and needy but it’s real, borne from a week of tension and denial.

Chris moves him back, pushing him into the other counter and then lifting him up to perch on the edge. Stiles parts his legs and drags him closer, hands running through Chris’ hair as he kisses him again. He wraps his legs around Chris’ waist, the two of them grinding together, and Stiles’ feels so wonderfully debauched in a way that he’d love to tell Allison about. Fuck. He pushes the thought from his mind and kisses Chris harder. He can drown on that guilt later. Right now, he’d rather be choking on Chris’ cock and fuck the consequences. He might be a terrible person.

Chris grabs his thighs, pulling him closer and thrusting his hips against him. Even through Chris’ thick jeans he can feel the outline of his hard cock. He moans into his mouth and Chris pulls back, stepping away to tug Stiles off the counter with a growl. Stiles nearly falls right on his ass before Chris steadies him.

“Sorry,” Chris says. “But I am not coming in pants.”

“Roger that,” Stiles agrees.

They make their way through to the couch, Chris pulling Stiles down on top of him. They shove their pants out of the way, Stiles pressing Chris’ T-shirt up so that he can thrust against him, their cocks rubbing together between their abdomens. Stiles pushes himself closer, the friction and the dampness of sweat and precome feeling so goddamn pornographic. They share sloppy kisses, nuzzling at one another, but their focus is on their dicks, on their hips, on getting off.

Chris comes first, his hand snaking its way beneath Stiles’ shirt and splaying out over his back in a way that feels possessive. It’s a combination of that and the new slickness between them that gets Stiles off, burying his face in Chris’ neck as he moans, that shuddery, shivery feeling taking him over. Chris smells so good, all manly and musky after a long day, his rich cologne adding a depth that makes an aftershock roll through his body.

They lie there afterwards for long moments, just breathing and holding one another, the sweat cooling on their skin, the come sticky between them. Stiles makes a disgruntled sound, but he can’t make himself move. He never wants to move again. The more his consciousness sneaks back in though, he’s aware that that’s not an option.

“We probably shouldn’t tell Allison about this,” he says.

“Probably not,” Chris agrees. He lifts his head, stroking a hand through Stiles’ hair until he looks at him. “Not because I don’t like you,” Chris says. “Or respect you. In a very real way. But because I do. And I want to give that a chance before we say anything to Allison.”

Stiles nods his head. “Yeah.”

“I want to be able to defend it meaningfully when we tell her,” Chris says. “Because we’re probably going to need to defend it.”

“And I don’t feel like getting killed in my sleep any time soon,” Stiles says.

Chris breathes a laugh that turns into a sigh. “We should definitely call it a night.”

“Right,” Stiles says, reluctantly moving back. “To our own beds.”

Chris sits up, reaching out to touch the side of Stiles’ face before leaning in to place a chaste kiss on his lips. “For tonight.”

He pulls his T-shirt off, cleaning himself up before passing it to Stiles. It feels so unromantic, but then this part is never hearts and flowers. Stiles has never felt this way about somebody before though. There’s a swell in his chest and he just wants to fold back into him. Instead, he pulls his pyjama pants back up, getting to his feet.

“Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, Stiles,” Chris returns. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Stiles sleeps deeply, sated and worn out. When he gets up, Chris is already awake, sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee, the morning news playing on the TV.

“That’s caffeinated this time, right?” Stiles asked.

“Absolutely,” Chris agrees, taking a long sip. “There’s a fresh pot if you want some.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, heading through to the kitchen. He pours himself a cup and then goes back to join Chris, curling up at the other end of the couch.

“Allison still asleep?” Chris asks, looking towards the stairs.

“I just looked in on her,” Stiles says. “Dead to the world.”

“She is going to feel like shit today,” Chris says. He turns, angling his body towards Stiles. “So, can I take you on a date?”

Stiles blinks at him. “You want to take me on a date?”

“Not now, but yes,” Chris says. “When you’re back at school next week. We’re not that far away from each other. We could meet halfway, neutral ground. I’d like to give it a shot. If that’s something you’re interested in.”

“ _Yes_ that’s something I’m interested in,” Stiles says, grinning at Chris like an idiot.

Chris smiles back at him and Stiles is suddenly very aware of what they did on this very couch last night. And the fact that they absolutely can’t do it now. He fidgets, his cock getting half hard. Inappropriate. But maybe not as inappropriate as he thought. Not in the right setting. They’re both adults and they’re being very adult about when they do adult things. He feels so grown up. Once again, however, his instinct is to preen to Allison about it.

They settle in to watch the TV together, and once the headlines start to cycle around again, Chris lets Stiles pick the channel. He settles on an old movie and they watch in comfortable silence until Allison finally emerges, a mess of hair and smeared eyeliner, a hoodie over last night’s dress.

“Where’s my water?” she asks. “Designated sober friend responsibilities include a bedside glass of water. Come on, Stilinski! I feel like something died in my mouth.”

Stiles’ eyes go wide, looking at Chris. “The water!” He left it on the counter when they started making out. Inappropriate.

“That’s my fault,” Chris says easily. “I was still up, I distracted him, he was getting you one.”

Allison grunts and goes through to the kitchen. Stiles throws a guilty look at Chris, but Chris just gives a shake of his head. Stiles sighs, sagging into the couch. Allison comes back a few moments later, cradling a cup of coffee. She sits down on the couch between them.

“Happy New Year, daddy,” she says, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

“Happy New Year, sweetheart,” Chris returns.

Allison turns to Stiles. “Did I say it to you already?”

“Many, many times,” Stiles agrees.

She smiles at him. “Okay, good. Now turn the TV down, that is way too loud.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but does as he’s told. Designated sober friend duty responsibilities also include being understanding and not passive-aggressively bitchy towards hung over friends. She’d do the same for him. They’d do anything for each other. He and Chris are only keeping this a secret out of respect for her. When there’s something to tell, they’ll tell her. Stiles is already worried that could mean the bottom falling out of his world though. He pushes those thoughts aside for now, snuggling on the couch with his best friend, sharing a day of quiet and calm. That’s what the holidays are about.

He has his first date with Chris on the Wednesday they return to school. He tells Allison he has a study group meeting for a class she’s not in because that’s the only reasonable excuse for her not to go with him. He feels awful about lying, but as soon as he sees Chris waiting for him in the booth of some questionable looking diner, he feels everything inside him settle. What could possibly be wrong with this?

He sits down opposite Chris, warmed by his smile. “This is the place you choose for a first date?”

“It’s exactly halfway between us,” Chris says. “That seemed fair. We can go somewhere nicer next time.”

“I kind of like that aesthetic actually,” Stiles says, picking up a menu. “If we don’t get food poisoning, maybe we can come here again.”

Chris laughs. “Noted.”

The food turns out to be pretty good and the conversation flows between them all night. Chris is so easy to spend time with, laid back with a dry sense of humour and an insight into life that Stiles feels he can relate to. He’s been considered a grown-up in his own household for far too long. Maybe that’s why no college guy has ever been remotely interesting as more than a hook up. Age doesn’t seem to matter when he’s with Chris though, they’re just two people who click.

When the meal is over and they’ve nursed their milkshakes for as long as they can, Chris walks Stiles to his jeep. The two of them reluctantly drag their feet as they cross the parking lot. He wants to go home with Chris, but it’s an hour and a half round trip so he shouldn’t. It’s already late. But he wants to. He hates the idea of ending their first date on a note of regret.

“So,” Chris says, leaning in close as Stiles takes out his keys. “I had fun tonight.”

“Me too,” Stiles says, but his eyes are on Chris’ SUV across the parking lot and not the kiss Chris is clearly trying to incite.

“What?” Chris asks, following his gaze.

“I was just thinking your backseat looks bigger than mine.”

Blowjobs in the back of a parked car outside a diner might not be the most romantic end to a date, but it’s infinitely more satisfying than a chaste kiss goodnight and blue balls. No comparison. Even in the restrictive confines, it’s good. Chris just keeps on ticking all of his boxes.

“I remember the first time I gave a blowjob,” Chris tells him afterwards, the two of them redressed and snuggled contentedly in the back of his car. “I’d thought about sucking cock since I was a teenager, but I thought about girls just as much, so I figured if I just embraced that then I could shut down the other part of me. I thought I could be normal. I spent most of my life trying.”

“Normal is overrated,” Stiles says, holding him closer.

“It’s subjective is what it is,” Chris says. “It’s meaningless. I’m not abnormal. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“There isn’t,” Stiles says, looking up at him earnestly.

“After the divorce, I decided I wanted to try it,” Chris says. “Partly out of pig-headedness.”

“Did she know?” Stiles asks. “Your wife?”

“It was the final nail in the coffin,” Chris tells him. “We were already having problems and I don’t know what I thought that would solve, but I wanted to be honest. I wanted to be myself. She didn’t really say anything at the time, but she had this look in her eyes. She went to my dad, because that bigoted asshole is the man she respects most in the world. He told her that you should never settle for a bisexual man because there’s days he’s going to want a dick and he’ll betray you to get one. You can never satisfy him so don’t try. As though I hadn’t been faithful to her for sixteen years of marriage.”

“I hate these people,” Stiles says, clinging to Chris.

“Hate’s too good for them,” Chris says. “They don’t get my hate. They’re not worth it.”

Stiles nods, placing a kiss on the side of his neck. Chris smiles down at him, stroking a hand through his hair.

“So she left, I didn’t speak to either of them again, and I went out and got myself some dick,” Chris says, a glimmer in his eye. “I was going to stay _straight_. Officially. For Allison. Until she came out to me. But I didn’t want to have never explored it. I owed myself that.” He meets Stiles’ eyes, looking at him earnestly. “That’s why the T-shirt means so much to me. You saw me and you accepted it and you showed me that it’s okay to be proud of it. I’ve never been proud. But I am when I’m with you.”

Stiles grins at him, pushing himself up to place a kiss on his mouth. Chris holds him there and lingering touches turn into dragging lips and slips of tongues. Stiles groans against him.

“Wait,” he says, pulling back. “You were going to tell me a filthy story about a blowjob?”

Chris laughs, a deep rumbling sound. “Yeah, I guess I was.”

“Spill,” Stiles says gleefully.

“Well, Allison was at her mom’s, back when she still used to see her,” Chris says. “So I had a weekend to myself and I decided to go to a club. Long story short, I met a guy and we retreated to a bathroom stall. It’s truly the stuff of fantasies.”

Stiles snorts a laugh. “We’ve all been there.”

Chris raises an eyebrow at him. “Have we now?”

Stiles pinches his side. “Tell your dirty story.”

“Fine,” Chris says. “I got down on my knees and he got out his cock and…” He stills, a faraway look in his eyes, something soft and vulnerable. “It was kind of emotional. It was such a long time coming. I wanted to savour it. I knew that it wasn’t the time or the place but… he was really patient with me. He let me explore and go at my own pace. It was… restorative. That’s the only word I can think to describe it. I felt whole. After we were done, he asked for my number and I told him I was a single dad and I didn’t have time for that in my life. I tried to just lock it away again.” He sighs. “If Allison hadn’t come out to me, I think it might have stayed locked up. Even if I found love, I could never be really happy. I don’t _need_ to have both. My dad’s wrong about that. I can fall in love and I can be faithful and I won’t feel like I’m missing out. But to not have the option? That’s the thing that would slowly kill me.”

“Wow,” Stiles says, leaning his head on Chris’ shoulder. “That got real. I was expecting jerking off material.”

Chris laughs, placing a kiss on his head. “Better luck next time, kid.”

When Stiles gets back to his dorm room, he flops down onto his bed with a contented sigh, warm and fuzzy all over.

“Good study session?” Allison asks, looking up from her video game.

Stiles lifts his head. Oh right. That’s where he was supposed to be. “Very productive,” he says. “I learnt a lot.”

“Right,” Allison says sceptically, turning back to her game. It’s one of the new ones Chris bought them for Christmas. “You want to get in on this?”

“Sure,” Stiles agrees, sitting up and grabbing the other remote.

The following night is gay night at the Student Union. It’s the first time Stiles has gone without being on the look out for hot guys. He smiles to himself at the thought of being taken. He thinks he’s taken. He certainly doesn’t have eyes for anyone but Chris right now, regardless of whether they’ve put an official label on it or not.

He finds he enjoys the night a lot more when he doesn’t have an ulterior motive to distract him. He catches up with his friends and dances with Allison and just embraces the atmosphere. It’s always a fun night. He loves being surrounded by people who get him. He wonders how Chris survived so long cutting himself off from this support that Stiles has always leaned into so heavily.

“That guy is checking you out,” Allison says, leaning in close to him on the dancefloor.

Stiles turns, looking over his shoulder. The guy is hot and he doesn’t shy away from Stiles’ gaze. Instead he gives an inviting smile. He’s a total sure thing. On any other night, Stiles would be too. He turns back to Allison.

“I just want to dance,” he dismisses.

“So go dance with him,” Allison says. “Grind up on that booty.”

Stiles instinctively turns to check it out. It is a grind-worthy booty. He doesn’t feel the slightest bit of regret about passing it up. He does want to take Chris dancing though.

“He’s not my type,” Stiles says.

“He is absolutely your type,” Allison says.

“I’m not in the mood,” Stiles amends.

Allison gives him a dubious look but she drops it, and then she drops him for a pretty girl in short shorts and fishnets. It’s an excellent choice.

He and Chris text daily and exchange dumb selfies. Stiles might be smitten. It feels so weird not being able to share it with Allison. It’s new though and they’re being responsible about it. There’s no point disrupting her life by putting her in the middle. That’s what Stiles keep telling himself.

He’s laid on his bed one day, grinning at his phone as he flirts with Chris via an endless text message string, when Allison bursts grandly into the room and declares, “Lydia Martin is a lesbian.”

Stiles’ grin gets bigger, putting his phone aside. “Well that’s an exciting development.”

Allison sits down on his bed beside him, gripping his arm a little too hard. “She came out to me like it was nothing, as though it just hadn’t come up in conversation, like my queerness isn’t ninety percent of what I talk about.” She looks at Stiles, eyes wide as she bites on her lip. “She wants to come and watch feminist slam poetry with me tomorrow night. She listened to a thing that I said and then she asked if she could come with me. I don't know if it’s a date. Do you think that’s a date? What the fuck am I supposed to wear?”

“First of all, breathe,” Stiles says. “Secondly, if she told you she was gay and then asked you to go and see feminist slam poetry with you, that sounds deliberate. That’s not platonic.”

“Oh god,” Allison says, getting to her feet and pacing. “I am not worthy of Lydia Martin.”

“You’re my favourite person in the world, she’d be lucky to have you,” Stiles says.

Allison stills, smiling at him with a sigh. “Thank you.”

“And you should wear the burgundy romper with the grey sweater,” Stiles says.

Allison crinkles her nose. “You think?”

“You ass and tits both look great in it,” Stiles says. “Oh, and your rainbow clutch of course.”

“That’s a look,” Allison smiles, more confident already.

When she goes out the following evening, Lydia picking her up from their dorm room in an outfit that’s clearly dressed to kill, Stiles stays home and has phone sex with Chris. Allison gives him a full debrief when she gets home and it turns out that Lydia has a single dorm room and Stiles wasn’t the only one who had an amazing orgasm that night. It was definitely a date.

Allison is head over heels and Stiles uses her distraction to spend more time with Chris. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. They met people at the same time and now they can stand to live outside of each other’s pockets, but not too far outside. Allison shares every detail of her courtship with Lydia, literally every lurid detail, and Stiles loves how it brings them closer together rather than Lydia being a wedge between them.

One Friday, Allison goes to stay over at Lydia’s and Stiles take the opportunity to spend the whole night with Chris. They go out to a nice restaurant but for the movie section of the cliched date they go back to Chris’ house because they both know that they have no intention of making it to the end of the film. There’s wandering hands and then wandering mouths and then a passionate make out session complete with grinding before they finally take it upstairs. To Chris’ bed. Sex has never felt so good.

He wakes up in the morning to a warm body and Chris is more than supportive about his morning wood. They have breakfast together afterwards and then Stiles reluctantly makes the drive back to college. Allison is already back in their room when he gets back. Stiles feels caught in the act.

“I thought you’d still be wrapped up with Lydia,” he says. “Preferably Lydia’s legs wrapped around your head if I remember correctly.”

“I wish,” Allison sighs. “She leads a study group on Sunday mornings because of course she does.”

“Of course,” Stiles says, sitting down on his bed and toeing off his shoes.

“Where did you stay last night?” Allison asks.

“I ended up crashing with Isaac and Boyd,” Stiles says, taking out his phone to make sure they’ll cover for him. What a tangled web.

He could have pretended he’d hooked up with someone he never planned to see again, take out the need for a corroborating party, but that wouldn’t have cut it. Spending the night is a big deal and Allison knows that about him. That’s why he’s only ever done it with Chris.

He looks over at Allison, sprawled out on her bed, and his love for her is tinged with a guilt that’s becoming far too familiar.

“You’re my favourite person in the world,” he says earnestly.

Allison reaches a hand out towards him, wiggling her fingers. “You’re my favourite person in the world too.”

Stiles accepts her outstretched hand, allowing himself to be pulled onto the bed with her.

“Lydia is a very close second though,” Allison says. “Her strap-on game is godly.”

Stiles snorts a laugh, leaning his head on her shoulder. “I’m very happy for you.” He means it.

“How can someone so femme fuck me so good?” Allison asks.

“Maybe you could write a research project on it,” Stiles says.

“I just fucking might,” Allison responds.

Allison being buried in Lydia, often literally as well as figuratively, means it takes her a few weeks to notice that Stiles isn’t hooking up with anyone. At all. Ever. He plays it off as having a lot of school work or not wanting to work through the entire queer student base too early and have to humiliatingly circle back around again. She doesn’t buy it. By spring break she’s convinced that he has some kind of secret boyfriend, and the joy she gets out of teasing him about it makes the dread grow regarding the week they’re about to spend with Chris. He feels like his entire life might just come crashing down around him.

As soon as Allison pulls up outside the house, she jumps out of the car and into Chris’ arms, just like she always does. Stiles loves that they’re so close, it always warms his heart. He knows that when his dad comes home for leave in the summer, there’ll be crushing bear hugs. He can’t wait.

Usually, he would greet Chris with a hug as well, and maybe a kiss. Chris is wearing the bisexual pride shirt that Stiles made for him and Stiles wants to fall into him more than ever. He suddenly has to be guarded though. He has to be _appropriate._

He busies himself with collecting the laundry from the back of the car when Chris comes to join him. Stiles glances over to the house. Allison has gone inside, but he doesn’t let his guard down.

“Nice shirt,” he says.

“Thanks,” Chris responds, reaching past Stiles to push the bags out of his hands. “It’s my favourite.”

Stiles smiles at him, feeling himself melt at the sincerity as he turns to face him. Chris pulls him into a hug, not as long or as tight as the ones they usually share, the pat on the back a clear indication of no homo, or at least, no fuck my daughter’s best friend. He gives Chris a conflicted look as they pull apart.

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” Chris says.

Stiles wants to point out that if they weren’t doing anything wrong then they wouldn’t still be hiding it from Allison. He keeps his mouth shut though. It’s a question that could make it all fall apart. Stiles wants to hang onto it, even if it makes him the worst person in the world.

When they go inside, Chris goes to put the laundry on and then disappears for the next couple of hours. Stiles’ anxiety churns in his stomach as he watches TV with Allison. If he and Chris can’t even be in the same room in front of her, this week is going to be a long, painful disaster. What the fuck does he even think he’s doing?

“Hey, Stiles,” Chris calls.

Stiles cranes his head, looking over the back of the couch at Chris. He has a leather jacket on over his dip-dyed T-shirt and Stiles is more than a little distracted by the look.

“I’ve been tuning my bike, I was going to take it out for a run,” Chris goes on. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go for ride?”

Stiles stares at him, wide-eyed, and then looks frantically at Allison.

“Ugh,” Allison says, not even bothering to look up. “He’s always trying to get people to ride on his death trap.”

“And my little princess is too precious for it,” Chris says.

“Your little princess thinks that if you’re going at those speeds, your vehicle should have sides,” Allison says. “And airbags.” She looks at Stiles. “You can say no.”

He can say no. Does that mean the expectation is that he’ll say yes? He looks over at Chris who gives him a shrug.

“I’ve never been on a motorcycle,” Stiles says. “It does look fun.”

“You know what, you boys go,” Allison says. “I’m going to facetime Lydia.”

“Right, it’s been, what, eighteen hours since you last saw her?” Stiles teases. “You must be suffering from withdrawal right now.”

Allison gives him a look and then turns to Chris. “Try not to smear him on the asphalt. I like him.”

“I’ll take good care of him,” Chris assures her.

He gives Stiles an extra jacket and helmet and Stiles feels a thrill as he climbs onto the back of the bike behind Chris, and not just from all the proximity and leather. Chris kickstarts the bike and the engine roars beneath Stiles. It makes him feel powerful, even though he has no control over it. He wraps his arms around Chris’ waist as they pull out onto the street, holding on tight as the speed builds and the road becomes a blur beneath them.

Chris drives them out of town, up winding roads lined with trees before it opens up to a beautiful vista. Stiles looks down into the valley, trusting Chris implicitly to handle the curves as he takes in the view. It’s utterly breath-taking, all of it, the combination of the beauty coupled with the sensation of the bike and Chris and the intimacy of it.

Chris pulls into a gravel parking lot near the top of the hills and Stiles’ legs are embarrassingly wobbly as he steps off the bike. Chris puts out a hand to steady him and Stiles grins at him with utter joy. His mouth is hidden by the helmet, but Stiles is sure Chris can see it in his eyes.

“You up for a little hike?” Chris asks. “It’s not far and the view is totally worth it.”

“Sure,” Stiles says. He’s pretty certain he would agree to anything Chris had to offer right now.

They don’t talk as they follow the trail, the sun shining through the trees and making patterns across the ground. There’s birdsong in the air and other hikers greeting them a good afternoon as they pass. It’s all so wholesome. About twenty minutes later, Chris takes an offshoot of the trail that opens up into a rocky outcrop. Stiles steps forward, staring at the panorama. It looks like the world goes on forever in lush greens.

“Wow,” he says.

“Yeah,” Chris agrees. “It’s pretty special.”

“It’s amazing,” Stiles says.

“Never gets old,” Chris says. “This is the place I ride out to the most. It’s not signposted and most people stick to the main trail so it’s usually pretty quiet. I like that.”

Stiles’ lips lift up in a little smile. He’s anything but quiet. Chris wanted to bring him here anyway, wanted to share this special place with him. Stiles’ eyes fall down to the shirt he’s wearing, his leather jacket open to display it, and he reaches across, touching his hand against it.

“Hey, can we take a selfie with this view?” he asks.

Chris raises an eyebrow at him. “Selfie means me, myself and I.”

Stiles snorts a laugh. “There’s a photo of you up in my dorm room. You and Allison. I love staring at your half of it, but that photo’s not for me. It would be cool to have one that was, and this is a place where people take photos, it’s an occasion that warrants it, it wouldn’t be weird.” He shifts on his feet, suddenly self-conscious. There’s so many talks they haven’t had. “I mean, if you don’t mind me having a photo up. If you don’t mind me wanting one.”

“I don’t mind,” Chris says earnestly.

He gives Stiles a warm smile and then puts his arm around him, turning him around so that the view is behind them. Stiles takes several different versions and Chris looks like perfection in each. He feels giddy at the prospect of having a photo with his boyfriend up in his dorm room, even if he can’t tell anyone about it.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” Stiles says as they turn back around to face the valley below. “I appreciate it.”

Chris gives a little nod and Stiles can tell that he gets it. _Thank you for trusting me with this part of yourself._ They don’t need to say anything else. Instead they sit down on some rocks and they watch the trees sway in the breeze and the birds swooping amongst them and the peacefulness of a land untouched by anything. It makes goosebumps raise up on Stiles’ arms. He leans against Chris, Chris giving a hum of agreement, and it feels like they’ve shared something profound.

“You know,” Stiles says, head resting on Chris’ shoulder. “The only problem with the bike is the lack of a backseat.”

Chris laughs, that lovely warm sound, so rich that Stiles is always certain he can feel it. “There’s somewhere else around here I wanted to take you actually.”

Stiles lifts his head up, trying not to look overly eager as visions of secluded cabins or quaint country motels fill his mind. “Oh yeah?”

“There’s a café that does the best milkshakes,” Chris says.

Stiles laughs at himself. Somehow this is even better. Stiles likes milkshakes. Chris knows that Stiles likes milkshakes. Those two facts, side by side, make the gesture feel so wonderfully intimate.

When they get back to the house, Allison is on the couch with her laptop. “Have fun?” she asks, not looking up.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, exchanging a loaded look with Chris behind her back. It feels so weird to go on a date and then immediately pretend it didn’t happen.

“I’m going to go put the bike to bed,” Chris says, giving Stiles a slap on the shoulder.

“Hey, I found some more places for next year, come look,” Allison tells Stiles.

He sits down beside her. It was a foregone conclusion that they were going to find a place together when they moved out of dorms next year. No discussion was required. They look through the new options she’s found, talking about who would have which room and what they’d do with it. They don’t discuss entertaining, this place will still be their sanctuary, instead talking about décor and which corner they’d put the TV in for maximum comfort during gaming sessions. They know what their priorities are, and how they match so perfectly with each other’s. Sometimes he thinks that Allison is his other half, if soulmates can be platonic. That gnawing guilt fills his gut again when Chris finally comes back into the house, asking what they want for dinner.

The week progresses, Stiles spending most of his time with Allison just like he always does, but there’s time that it’s the three of them and if he just puts his anxiety on the backburner, he can see how well the three of them fit. Allison calls it family. Stiles isn’t sure there’s a word for it.

He’s in Chris’ bed towards the end of the week, post-coital and wrapped up in his arms, but they both know there’s a time limit on it. Stiles can’t fall asleep here. Chris rubs his back as he holds him close, his heartbeat steady in his chest under Stiles’ ear, the moment so full of intimacy and love. Not that they’ve said those words yet. Is that what they’re waiting for?

Stiles sighs heavily, pressing his face into Chris’ chest and breathing him in before he lifts his head. “Walk of shame time.”

Something painful passes over Chris’ face. “This isn’t how she should find out, Stiles.”

“I know,” Stiles says. The question hangs in the air between them unsaid. _How should she find out?_

“I’ve dated since I came out,” Chris says, his hand trailing up and down Stiles’ spine. “Not just sucked cocks in bathrooms. But I never introduced anyone to Allison. I always told myself I wouldn’t do that, not unless I was sure.”

Stiles shrugs. “How are you ever supposed to be sure?”

“You’re asking a divorcee,” Chris points out. “I would have bet my life on that one on my wedding night.”

Stiles sits up, looking down at Chris. “Allison is the most important thing in my life,” he says. “That’s the _only_ thing I’m sure of. But I’m sneaking around behind her back with you. And I know that that could hurt her. I hate it, but I don’t want to stop. I have other options, arguably better options, certainly smarter options. But I’m here. And I want to be here. So maybe that means…” He trails off. Despite everything, he still can’t confront what that means. Why is the prospect of being in love so scary? Timing is fucking everything, he guesses.

“Allison is the only thing I’m sure of as well,” Chris says. “But I still made this choice. Eyes wide open.” He reaches out, taking hold of Stiles’ hand. “We could tell her. Tomorrow.”

Stiles’ eyes fall join to their joined fingers. “But then I might lose you both.” It’s the most selfish reason ever to keep the lie going. He could be hurting a father and daughter’s relationship irreparably. It’s not a case of wanting to have it all, he’s just terrified of having nothing left.

Chris squeezes his hand. “Okay.”

He can’t console Stiles, can’t promise that he’d take his side because he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. If this all falls apart, Stiles is out in the cold. What he can do is be on the same page as him right now. He can put off the inevitable so that they can live in this bubble for a little while longer.

On their last night, Allison goes to bed early and Stiles goes through to the kitchen to grab himself a drink when he sees the laundry light on. He goes to the doorway to see Chris pulling clothes out of the dryer, folding them carefully. Stiles gives a soft laugh, Chris looking up at him.

“Do you really love folding laundry?” Stiles asks.

Chris grabs something, one of Stiles’ shirts, and tosses it over to him. “Fold it.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows at him but does as he’s told, walking further into the small space as he folds the warm shirt in his hands. He places it on top of the pile.

“Isn’t that satisfying?” Chris asks.

“Things out of the dryer always feel good,” Stiles says. “I’m not sure I’d take it up as a hobby.”

Chris gives him a look and then throws another shirt at him, one of Allison’s. Stiles dutifully folds it. There is a certain sense of satisfaction that comes with the task he supposes. They keep going in silence, Chris passing him things over the bench, the pile growing between them. It’s soothing, the warmth and the repetition. Stiles is no stranger to domestication, he ran a household singlehandedly when his dad went back to Germany during his senior year, and he helped his dad out with the chores plenty before that, but it never felt as homely as this. It’s like something slotting into place.

They don’t have sex that night, and Stiles thinks maybe they’ve just had their fill, together for the whole week. They share a brief kiss on the landing before going to their separate bedrooms, and it doesn’t really hit Stiles until he and Allison are driving back to college the next morning. He’s sure. He’s completely fucking sure. It’s too late to do anything about it now.

Things settle into a familiar routine as college starts up again. Stiles can compartmentalise, his friendship with Allison as all-consuming at ever and his relationship with Chris kept carefully distant from it. They text every day and meet up once or twice a week. It feels safe that way. Everything has a box that it fits in so perfectly.

Almost every day, Stiles tries to get up the courage to tell Chris he wants them to come out to Allison. He _does_ want that. It means enough to him that he hates hiding it, hates not being able to share what has become a huge part of his life with Allison, but he can never get up the guts to pull the trigger. It’s too complicated. Things are perfect as they are. Maybe in the summer, when Stiles is staying with his dad and the three of them aren’t so hopelessly entwined. Maybe then they can tell her. It feels safely distant that he can make it feel like a promise to himself.

He's alone in his dorm room one night, sending increasingly explicit texts to Chris as he lies on his bed. There’s still no real intent there, it’s just flirting, but his cock is half-hard, his hand idling nearby. It wouldn’t take much to tip them over. Stiles knows the progression, from words to pictures to phone calls full of panting and moans and encouragement. This is just the beautiful foreplay, but he’s starting to get impatient.

He’s just thinking about grabbing himself through his pants to get a bulge going that he can send to Chris when the door swings open and Allison comes in, tossing her bag down into the chair. Stiles’ eyes go wide and he sits up, typing a _brb_ to Chris and placing his phone down beside him on the bed.

“I thought you were having dinner with Lydia,” he says, trying to keep his voice even.

“She had a tutoring emergency,” Allison says. “Like that’s more important than me getting eaten out.”

“Cock blocks are unfortunate,” Stiles says.

Allison turns to face him. “Do you want to go grab dinner?”

“I already ate,” Stiles says. Allison sighs, sitting down beside him. “I’m sorry your date got ruined.”

“She promised she’ll make it up to me,” Allison responds. “And I like that she’s this intellectual superhero. It’s so hot. Her brain is her greatest weapon.”

“She could bring down nations,” Stiles agrees.

Allison’s eyes light up as she turns to face him. “At the coffee shop this guy was trying to mansplain economics to us and she _destroyed_ him. I am so in love.”

“Wow, love,” Stiles says. “Have you guys said that?”

“Only when she makes me come,” Allison responds. “So, a lot.”

Stiles snorts a laugh, playing with the hem of his shirt. “But, like, for real?”

Allison gives him a scathing look. “Can’t I just be happy? Do you have to make me analyse it?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Stiles says. “Sorry.” He gives a sigh, looking across the room. “Do you want to play something? Or are you eating first?”

“Let’s game,” Allison says. “I might order in.”

She picks up Stiles’ phone as he gets up, crossing the room to turn the console on. Stiles doesn’t think anything of it, her own phone is undoubtedly in her bag where she tossed it and they know each other’s passcodes anyway.

“Oh my god,” she exclaims. Stiles looks over, wondering what gossip she’s managed to come across, but then he sees the utter joy on her face. “Is this your secret boyfriend? He does exist.”

Stiles freezes, a cold dread coming over him. He never closed the messaging app. “Allison, wait, no.”

“He is raunchy,” Allison says joyfully, starting to scroll through the messages. “Cock blocking subtext understood. Do you need me to leave?”

Stiles crosses the room, making a grab for the phone. “Please just give that to me.”

“I want to know about…” she looks up to the top of the screen, “…Chris.”

“Allison, give that to me,” he says through gritted teeth. He makes another grab for the phone but she throws herself back on his bed, putting up a foot to deflect him.

“I don’t know a Chris,” she muses out loud, still scrolling upwards through old messages. “Where have you been hiding him?”

Stiles can feel the tears clouding his eyes. “I’ll tell you everything if you just give me the phone back.”

It’s too late though. He can tell the exact moment that she finds the first selfie. She stops, staring at it, her face falling. Stiles wants to sink down to the floor, he wants to crawl under the bed and never come out. She looks up at him, her face awash with devastation as she slowly sits up.

“Stiles,” she says. “This is my dad.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything. He can’t. His throat closes up and he just looks at her hopelessly. Allison turns her attention back to the phone, scrolling down to where she started like she needs to confirm that she didn’t accidently switch to another text string, another Chris. She looks back up at him, nothing but hurt in her eyes.

“My dad?”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says. He’s rehearsed this so many times in his head and now he has nothing. He feels pathetic.

“What? You guys hooked up over spring break?” Allison asks.

Stiles swallows uncomfortably, but he has to tell the truth. “Christmas.”

“This has been going on since Christmas?” she asks incredulously. “You’ve been lying to me all that time?”

“Not lying,” Stiles insists. “I never lied to you.”

“You never fucking told me the truth, Stiles,” Allison responds.

“We were going to,” Stiles insists.

“Going on bike rides,” Allison says. “Folding laundry. Doing it right under my nose and laughing at me behind my back.”

“No one ever laughed at you,” Stiles says. “Allison, we love you.”

“You need to leave,” Allison says, throwing his phone at him. “You need to get out of my goddamn sight.”

“Let me explain,” Stiles pleads.

“Leave,” Allison tells him, and Stiles has never seen her look at him like that before, so hurt and broken and done.

“You’re still my favourite person in the world,” he says.

She turns her back on him, wrapping her arms around herself. He has no choice but to go.

He closes the door softly behind himself, leaning against it as he stares down at the blank screen of his phone. He hears a sob from Allison and it breaks his heart. It wasn’t worth it. Nothing could be worth this. He doesn’t know what to do, whether to give Chris a heads up or tell Lydia to come over. He hears Allison moving around and then she’s talking to someone.

“I don’t believe this,” she says, her voice wet with tears. Stiles thinks she must have called Lydia herself, but then he keeps listening. “My best friend,” she says, her voice cracking. “Why did it have to be my best friend? Why are you trying to take him away from me? Dad, he’s all I have.”

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, his chest seizing with pain as he listens to her sob. The guilt is so much worse than he thought it would be because Allison is mourning him, is blaming her dad, and underneath it all she clearly still believes that she’s that sad girl without friends. He wants to open the door and go in there and just hold her and tell her how amazing she is. He lost that right though. And now he’s fucked everything up between Allison and Chris. Even with Stiles out of the picture, Allison doesn’t sound like she’s going to be okay. She’s going to hold it against Chris. Stiles has broken everything.

He sends a text to Lydia. _I fucked up, Allison needs you. I know you’re busy, I’m sorry._ He doesn’t get a response, but he’s sure that Lydia is dropping everything to be with her girl. Her loyalty is the only thing stronger than her intellect. It’s why Stiles likes her so much and why she’s perfect for Allison who will never trust that she comes first. She does though, to everyone. That’s why they’re in this mess.

He leaves before Lydia gets there, wandering campus and ignoring his phone. He should talk to Chris, he knows he should, but what is there to say? It’s over, it has to be, in the worst possible way. He hates himself so much. They could have told her over spring break like Chris had suggested, but he was selfish and scared. He wanted to hold onto what he had because then he didn’t have to answer for himself. He didn’t have to take responsibility for it. He didn’t want to risk losing it. It’s gone now and Allison with it.

He finally breaks down and calls his dad, even though it’s the middle of the night over there and they never call long distance unless it’s an emergency. He thinks this might be though. The whole story tumbles out of him, messy and honest, full of tears and snot as he sits on the ground outside the library because he can’t go inside and make this much noise but he likes the light flooding out of the windows. It makes him feel like he’s maybe not the loneliest person in the world.

“He’s how old?” is the first thing his dad asks him when he finally stops for breath.

Stiles laughs. “Old enough to be my dad, I guess.”

“Huh,” John says.

“That’s really all you have to say?” Stiles asks.

“Look, son, I can drop some truth on you, but I’m not sure how much good it’s going to do,” John says.

Stiles sighs, leaning back against the wall. “Drop it.” He needs to hear this. He needs to accept it.

“It sounds like you have similar outlooks,” John says. “And like you’re at the same point of being settled into your sexuality and ready for something more serious. You obviously have strong feelings for him. I’ve never heard you talk about anyone like that. It sounds like you two had something good.”

Stiles frowns. “Why are you saying positive things about the relationship I just fucked up?”

“I said I wasn’t sure how much good it was going to do,” John says. “But I think you need to acknowledge what you stand to lose because I don’t think you did before.”

It’s true, he’s shied away from love, held Chris at arm’s length because of Allison and the potential fall out that he’s living through right now. That doesn’t mean he didn’t feel it though. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. In another life, maybe Chris could have been it. He feels a fresh tear roll down his cheek, not one of despair for once, but one of loss. Chris really could have been everything.

“It’s not worth it,” Stiles says, wiping away the tear. “But thanks. I did need to hear that.”

“Get some sleep,” John tells him. “Things often look a light brighter in the morning light.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I’m a full-time parent, even if I’m not there,” John says. “Any time you need me.”

“I know,” Stiles says with a little smile. “Night, dad.”

“It’s morning,” John says pointedly. “But goodnight, Stiles.”

They hang up and Stiles navigates to his text thread with Chris. He scrolls through it, all the messages they send each other every day, the little intimacies that they share. It was real. He needs to acknowledge that before he can let it go.

_I love you. I’m sure. We should have done this properly, maybe we could have saved it, at least we wouldn’t have hurt Allison like we did. It was never worth that risk. I’m sure she’ll forgive you, you’re her world. Never let her forget that she’s yours._

He presses send and then turns off his phone. He can’t deal with any more consequences right now. He needs to just disconnect himself from the situation, as selfish as that might be. He’s not in it anymore though. He’s on his own now.

He doesn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning on Isaac and Boyd’s floor. They invite him for breakfast the next morning but he waves them off, choosing quiet and solitude. He sets himself up in a corner of the library he was crying outside last night, ignoring his exhaustion and hunger. He feels like a shell of himself and none of those physical needs seem to matter. He’s pretty sure he’d feel wretched either way.

He doesn’t have any of his study materials and he doesn’t dare go back to his room to get them, so he browses the shelves for something related to his classes but instead finds himself with a copy of _The Werewolf Of Paris._ Allison’s favourite book. There’s a worn copy of it in their dorm room that she’s implored him to read but he never did. He’s not sure if reading it now is an act of admiration or just irony.

He’s just starting to get into the plot when a shadow falls over him. He frowns, looking up to see Allison standing over him. He sits up straighter, putting the book down.

“Hey,” Allison says, her voice delicate, but she’s looking at him softly now.

“Hey,” he returns, unable to stop himself being guarded.

“You never came home last night,” she says, sitting down beside him. She’s wearing the plaid shirt she stole from him during that first week. He wonders if she even remembers that it was his.

“You told me to get out,” Stiles responds.

“I didn’t tell you not to come back,” Allison says. “And your phone was going straight through to voicemail. I was worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles says. Physically he is. He’s safe. “I crashed at Isaac and Boyd’s.” He remembers the last time he used those words, covering for spending the night with Chris. He feels like the most awful person in the world. “I’m sorry,” he says, trying not to break down again. He has no right to be the one upset here. “I never meant to hurt you. I mean, I’m an asshole because I knew what I was doing _could_ hurt you, but I never wanted to.”

“I know,” Allison says. “I talked to my dad last night. I screamed at him the first time, but then Lydia came over, thank you for that, and she let me rage and then she used her logic and that goddamn beautiful brain of hers, and then I talked to him again. Properly. And I listened.”

“You guys are okay?” Stiles asks tentatively.

“We will be,” Allison says. “We all will be. I wanted to have that conversation with you too, but you never came home.”

“I thought giving you some space was probably the best thing,” Stiles says.

Allison gives him a look. “When have we ever had space?”

Stiles shrugs. She has a point.

“It’s not the fact that you’re with my dad, though that’s… a lot,” Allison says. “It’s the fact that you’re the two most important people in my life and you were hiding this from me. It hurts that you didn’t trust me with it.”

“That’s not it at all,” Stiles insists. “We knew it was wrong, that’s why we kept it a secret. I kept telling myself that it wasn’t but… You told me it was gross. I should’ve listened.”

Allison crinkles her nose. “When did I say that?”

“When I was talking about how hot he was,” Stiles says. “And you told me it was gross. And you were right.”

“You mean the first time you met him when you were objectifying my father in my childhood home?” Allison asks. “Yeah, that was pretty gross, Stiles.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, bowing his head.

“But this isn’t some crush,” Allison says. “I talked to my dad, he is in deep. You had all this stuff going on and you didn’t share it with me. We share everything. It just makes me feel so worthless that neither of you wanted to tell me this. That you were going behind my back like I’m some kind of buzzkill. Like I was boring and I was going to bring you both down.”

Stiles frowns. He knows those words, those hang ups. Allison’s whole high school experience was not being noticed, blending into the background, never being thought of. But he and Chris thought of her all the time. He knows that Allison’s insecurities will fight against that thought, just like Stiles’ anxiety fought against telling her the truth.

He reaches out to her, taking hold of her hand and gripping it tightly. “I love you. You are vibrant and special and important. You’re the most important person in my life, Allison Argent. I would move mountains for you. With my bare hands. And you have never once bored me, not for a second. The only reason I didn’t want to tell you is because I thought you’d hate me and I couldn’t stand the thought of you hating me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Allison says. “I thought I did for a little while last night, but I was just hurt. My ego, and maybe my soul. I listened to my dad talk about you last night and then I stared at that photo on our wall. The outlook. You’re both so happy. And I saw that all the time. I loved that you guys were friends, because you’re my favourite people, you’re all I have. You’re my family, you and my dad. I didn’t like that I wasn’t included in this. But I don’t think it’s gross. I don’t want the details, you can save those for somebody else, but I think maybe I get it. It’s the things you have in common that make me love you both. Makes sense you’d like that in each other too.”

Stiles stares at her, not quite daring to ask. “Are you giving us your blessing?”

Allison leans in close to him. “I never, ever want the details.”

Stiles grins despite himself. “Okay.”

“And no secrets,” she says. “Ever. You two don’t even plan a surprise birthday party for me. I get to know everything that’s going on in your lives.”

“Except the details,” Stiles says.

“Right,” Allison agrees, her mouth curling up into a smile. “I don’t want to go on your dates or anything, I don’t want to be a third wheel, but I don’t want to be left out of the everyday stuff.”

Stiles nods. “I get it.”

“And don’t hurt him,” Allison says. “I gave him the same speech. Respect each other. I’m not getting caught in the middle, picking up the pieces.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees.

“Which means you should turn your phone back on,” Allison says. “I wasn’t the only one who was trying to get in touch with you last night.”

Stiles lets go of her hand, taking out his phone. He switches it on, finding a list of missed calls and a handful of messages. He ignores the ones from Allison and Lydia and opens the text thread from Chris.

_I love you too. We should talk._

He stares at it, tears pricking at his eyes. He’d kind of forgotten about that revelation he’d had last night. He thought it was a break-up text. Now it feels like the start of something.

He looks up at Allison. She’s tired, dark circles under her eyes. He probably looks just as rough. It reminds him of when they go out partying, but even more than that, it reminds him of when they stay up all night playing video games, losing track of time in their own little world. He feels such incredible fondness for this girl. He puts his phone away.

“Have you eaten yet?”

Allison shakes her head.

“We should get breakfast,” Stiles says.

“That sounds really good right now,” Allison agrees.

As they walk across campus, he takes his phone back out, sending a message.

_I’m taking Allison to breakfast. I’ll call you when she’s in class._

His phone buzzes in his hand a minute later.

_Thank you x_

Stiles isn’t sure whether Chris is thanking him for taking care of Allison or for saying he’ll call, but it doesn’t really matter. The two things are equally important to both of them, to all of them, Stiles is certain of that. He puts his phone away and then reaches for Allison’s hand instead, the two of them walking with a shared goal, just like they always do. Best friends forever.


End file.
